


Thermodynamics

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thermodynamics

**Author's Note:**

> Under no circumstances should you read this at work. I will not be held responsible for anything that might happen as a result of reading this fic. Also, many thanks to Alex for the title.

They're doing a quick change between songs when Joey yelps. He'd been tugging his jeans up, but the sting of fabric slapping against his ass makes him nearly drop them again. Catching at his belt, he glares at a grinning Chris.

"What?" Chris laughs. "I didn't do it."

Justin grabs the towel from behind Chris's back and holds it up, laughing. Chris growls, but when he turns to look back at Joey, he sucks in a breath: Joey is advancing on him, buttoning his jeans, his eyebrows lowered in a hot stare. Chris gulps.

"No sex in the quick change room," Lance calls in his best porn voice. Justin and JC crack up. Joey ignores him, instead putting one hand on either side of the wall against which Chris stands.

"After the show," Joey says in a soft, rich voice that goes straight to Chris's groin. Chris gulps and nods, and then Joey is gone, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on as he strides away.

* * *

Chris is hard for the entire show. Occasionally, Justin looks over at him and snickers, and Chris is tempted to smack him. Then he thinks about how he'll be in Joey's hotel room after the show, and he wishes it was already the last song.

* * *

When they're running for the buses after the final song, the screaming of the audience a near physical force that rings in their ears and pushes them stumbling through the backstage corridors, Joey grabs Chris's elbow. Chris lets Joey pull him onto his bus, and they grin as Lance, glowering, hops onto the other one. From the way JC was eyeing Lance earlier, though, Chris is fairly sure Lance won't be upset for too long.

They're still glowing with sweat from the show; Joey's rubbing a towel over his head, and his hair sticks up in messy spikes when he drops it around his shoulders, leaning into the fridge to grab two bottles of water. He tosses one to Chris, who accepts it gratefully, and they drink together in silence. Then Joey nods towards the bathroom. "You can go first, if you want."

Chris grins and grabs Joey's wrist, pulling him along. Joey's laughing: "There's not enough room, Chris, seriously, man," but Chris pushes him into the bathroom, yanking the black muscle shirt over his head at the same time. A wave of scent that's pure Joey, sweat, fatigue, excitement and musk, hits Chris all at once and desire spikes sharp and urgent in his brain and somewhere lower down. Joey fumbles open his pants, kicking off his shoes at the same time, and Chris grins as he realizes they're not even gonna make it to the hotel room.

Joey gets in and starts the water. Chris gets his own clothes off, adding them to the damp pile in the corner, and lathers up a washcloth. Joey's right, the shower isn't big enough for two people -- or, it is, but they wouldn't be able to move or turn around or really do anything fun, so he scrubs Joey down instead. He lets his hands linger at Joey's proud erection, and Joey moans appreciatively, hanging onto the handle and biting his lip, then pouts when Chris moves on. He rinses himself off and they switch places, and Joey's hands are relentless, ruthless, the soapy cloth finding every sensitive inch of Chris's body. The water is running cold but Chris doesn't even notice it when he's pushed to the wall and Joey's mouth closes over his cock.

Then the water's gone and so is Joey. When Chris opens his eyes to see what's going on, Joey throws a new towel at him. Chris groans, half in anger and half in desperate need, but he dries himself off, following Joey into the rear lounge of the bus. Joey's got the towel wrapped around his middle, and he's kneeling on the floor, rummaging in his bag for something. Chris flops down on the divan, arranging himself artfully, giving Joey his best dazzling smile when Joey stands and turns. He's hot and he knows it, sprawled languidly on the cushions with his dick rising hard and eager against his thigh. Joey gives him a dark-eyed, flashing glance of appreciation and discards his own towel.

Chris loves the sight of Joey naked. He's always so unselfconscious about it, and his body is beautiful in all its phases: as it is now, lean and toned from a couple months of tour, or soft and comfortable the rest of the time. Joey's erection is a thing of beauty too, and Chris licks his lips at the sight of the thick organ, bobbing heavily between Joey's thighs. Joey raises his hand and lets the nylon cuffs dangle from his fingers, and now Chris gasps. Just the thought that Joey's going to tie him up is enough to drive him to new levels of need.

Joey kneels on the couch and gathers Chris's wrists over his head; Chris lets him, limp and pliant beneath him, panting when Joey secures the velcro of the cuffs around each wrist. He's got a few inches of loose cord between his hands, so he can move them to keep from straining his arms, and he nods eagerly up at Joey when the preparations are complete, licking his lips. "Want you, Joe," he grins.

"You haven't even started wanting me," Joey purrs. Chris inhales; the air already smells of sex, of Joey, of himself, and he thinks that he could well expire of enjoyment before the night's over. Not a bad way to go, though.

Joey straddles Chris's hips, holding himself up over his friend's body, and kisses him, slow and languid and deep. His tongue is hot and heavy in Chris's mouth, and Chris sucks willingly on it, loving the faint mewls that eke from Joey's throat. They kiss for a long time; Joey has a hand over the cord between Chris's wrists, so he can't bring his hands over Joey's neck like he'd like to do, but he flexes ardently beneath Joey, begging wordlessly. He can already feel pre-come dampening his cock, his belly where his dick bounces against it.

Joey's mouth moves slowly down Chris's neck, now, and he pauses to nibble thoughtfully at one earlobe, licking into Chris's ear to make Chris shiver. Then he's moving further down, the sandpaper bite of his tongue aching sweet on the soft skin of Chris's throat, his collarbone, the dip at the base of his neck. Joey nips at Chris's shoulder, playful, and grins when Chris lets out a helpless cry. Then his teeth are grazing one hardened nipple, his fingers sliding over the other in a teasing touch. Chris is already so hot, so turned on, that he's afraid he might come from this sensitive caress alone. He whimpers, biting down on his lip and fighting it.

He's dimly aware that Joey has released his restraints, but he leaves his hands above his head; they're comfortable there, more or less. Joey's breath steams over the nipple, tongue flat and hard then soft and gentle, alternating tormenting licks with sweet suckling. When his fingers pinch the other nipple roughly, Chris squeaks and comes, the flood of sensation all at once too much for his dizzied senses.

He feels a vague rush of embarrassment, but Joey just hums and smiles and moves down to lick him clean. He takes a long time, licking slow and hot and by the time he's slurped the last drop Chris is hardening again. "Jesus," Chris whimpers helplessly, "you're going to fucking kill me, aren't you?" It's starting to look like a distinct possibility, especially when he hears Joey's chuckle and feels Joey's beard brush over the exquisitely tight skin of his cock. "Oh, fuck," Chris moans. "Have pity on an old man."

Joey is being strangely silent tonight, because instead of responding with an acerbic comment as he'd usually do, he just takes the fat head of Chris's erection into his mouth and suckles hard. The sensation of coming to full hardness inside Joey's mouth is mindblowing; Chris writhes, restless, on the divan, whimpering when Joey pulls back to kiss at Chris's thighs, drawing circles on the soft skin with his tongue. The heat is gone altogether, then, and Chris opens his eyes, raises his head to see Joey sucking on his fingers. The sight is near enough to drive Chris to orgasm again; with a moan, he drops his head and raises his hips, shameless, wanton, wanting.

The first finger is like heaven. He can feel Joey shifting and moving and there's a steady quiet sound that makes him involuntarily envision Joey masturbating, fist on flesh. That's hot, too, and Chris bites down on his lower lip hard to bring himself back to the present. Joey's broad finger moves within him, working the muscle, deep and sweet and then pleasure bolts through him as Joey hits his prostate. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," Chris hears himself chanting. "Fuck fuck fuck, Joey, love you fucking want you."

Joey shakes his head, grinning, and slips another finger in instead. Chris feels so breached, open and desperate, but he doesn't even care, just pushes down and fucks himself on Joey's fingers. He loves the way Joey's breathing has gone so shallow and raspy, loves that Joey's so aroused from what he's doing to Chris. Two thick fingers spreading him, opening him, and they push hard and sweet and they feel so fucking good but it's still not enough. Chris opens his eyes and gives Joey what he hopes is his hungriest look, because what he wants now, more than anything, is Joey inside him.

He seems to get it, because he pulls his hand back, reaching to the overhead shelf and groping and then coming down again with a condom that he tears open with his teeth. Chris grins up at him, wriggling in lewd invitation, and Joey grins as he rolls the rubber down over his erection, which is harder than Chris thinks he's ever seen it, and dimly he thinks 'that's gotta hurt'. Then Joey's tugging at Chris's hips, rolling him to his stomach. Chris's breathing is completely suspended now; he raises his ass for Joey, feeling shameless and utterly beyond care.

He feels Joey's fingers at his entrance again, and pushes back against them impatiently, his whimpers entreating: _now, for Christ's sake, please, Joey_. Then the added pressure of something thick and blunt pushes between his buttocks, into him, in one long smooth easy thrust that wrings a moan from Chris's throat. Joey buries himself in Chris, filling him up until the heat of Joey's groin sears Chris's ass. _God, that's it_ , Chris wants to say, but he can't even speak anymore, he's too worked up.

But it's all right, because Joey's moving now, hands bracketed on Chris's hips as he moves, slow and steady with even, sleek thrusts. Each one makes Chris groan aloud at the end of it, when Joey's sunk fully into him, and it seems like every time is brand new, erasing the memory of what's gone before; each wave of fresh sensation strikes Chris like a tidal wave.

He's aware that he's dangerously close, despite the fact that he's come once already; Joey's foreplay has been so intense that Chris feels like he could be climaxing for days. That thought makes him give a strangled laugh, and then Joey's hand snakes around to grasp his cock, squeezing the base in a fiercely tight grip. Chris screams, involuntary, because it's so fucking good and holding him back all at once, and he's so turned on he can't do anything else but push back against Joey, grinding into the heat that pushes into him again and again and again.

Joey's moving faster now, using his grip on Chris like a handhold or something but Chris doesn’t care, wants to be used, wants to be made Joey's, to be possessed by him. He realizes gradually that he's babbling -- some sort of litany that sounds like "Jesus yes fucking yes fuck me God that's it yes love you" -- but even as he notices it, he forgets again, because Joey delivers a series of thrusts, hard and fast flurrying into him, and any last rational thought in Chris's head scatters and is lost, possibly for all time.

He pounds swifter with each thrust, the pace erratic now, rhythm lost, and Chris can feel sweat dripping on his back, presumably from Joey's face. Joey groans constantly, too, and his cock is so hot inside Chris that Chris wonders vaguely how it's possible that Joey hasn't come yet. But then Joey gives a gasping grunt that sounds something like, "Oh Jesus -- fucking -- God--" and his last thrust stills him all at once, shaking behind Chris. His grip eases on Chris's cock; the slightest relaxation in pressure is all it takes and Chris is gasping his release into the pillows, orgasm flooding him in a tidal wave of sensation.

It's so intense that he thinks he does black out for a second; at the very least, he's rendered speechless, immobile, capable of doing nothing other than laying there rather helplessly, becoming slowly aware of a cooling sticky spot beneath him and Joey's heavy warmth slumped over his back. Joey's still buried in him, and he likes the feeling, likes the fullness of Joey's softening penis still pressed into him.

"Jesus," he whispers at last. "So this is what heaven looks like."

Joey swats him on the shoulder and he laughs, weakly, shoulders shaking. "Blasphemer," Joey mutters, and pushes himself up on his hands, slipping back and out of Chris. Chris rolls to his side to watch as Joey, sitting up, peels the condom off and gets rid of it. Joey looks drained but content, and Chris undoes his wrists, drops the cuffs off the side of the couch, and reaches for him.

As they lay down again, Joey on his back with Chris sprawled inelegantly over him, Chris combs Joey's unruly hair with his fingers, smiling. "We got all sweaty again," he observes, and smooths Joey's brow, fingertips soft as they trace the strong line of an eyebrow. Joey closes his eyes.

"Was worth it," he murmurs, smiling.

"You OK?" Chris can't help but ask. Joey is warm and soft and comfortable beneath him, but he seems remote somehow.

"I am," Joey says. He tucks an arm behind his head and gives Chris a serious look. "More than OK. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Jesus, no," Chris laughs. "I'll be walkin' funny tomorrow, but man, it was worth every second. That was fucking amazing, Joey."

"OK." They lay there like that for a little while longer, and then Chris sighs that he's tired of laying on the wet spot, so -- both of them groaning a little as aching muscles are forced to move anew -- they get up to get cleaned up. Joey steps into the bunk area, then returns to toss a pair of track pants at Chris before pulling his own sweats on. He sits back on the divan, one arm propped over a leg, smiling at Chris until Chris snaps, "What?"

"Oh, just." Joey grins. "I'm just thinkin' that if you goof off like that during the show again, I'll have to, you know. Do that again."

Chris slides up against Joey, smiling as he drapes his arms around Joey's shoulders. "And this is supposed to be a deterrent how, exactly?"

Joey laughs. "It's not."

"Good," Chris grins, already making plans for the next time.


End file.
